Finishing Touch
by Departed
Summary: Rachel wasn't entirely sure what she was thinking when she agreed to have Quinn Fabray model nude for her. Faberry.


**Title: **Finishing Touch

**Rating: **T

**Pairing: **Quinn/Rachel, mentions of Finn/Rachel and very _brief _Pezberry

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing.

**A/N: **It kind of sucks getting sucked into a ship right when the season's coming to an end, especially when said ship will never be canon. Whatever. It exists in my mind. That's all that matters :)

I'm hoping to a write a chaptered story later on. Not on this, but maybe a couple of oneshots will get me into the swing of writing again, though I have no idea where I was going with this. It was meant to be somewhat smutty, and now it's not… hope that's not too disappointing.

* * *

The assignment was really that simple.

Look through the ads for any potential candidates in private modeling on the bulletin board across the art room, decide on a wage (one that Rachel deemed appropriate on an hourly basis, none of that flat rate absurdity), set up a time suitable for both parties, and the rest would run its course. Draw, pay, and turn in. Of course there was always the reassurance of getting extra practice in the skills that Rachel found… rather _lacking_ in her strive to improve her artistic vision. And as she was consistently aware of her perfectionist, near compulsive side, it was no problem for her to chip into her savings in order to appease said nature.

She wanted to exceed all expectations on her final assignment, and so hired a nude model to do so.

Simple.

Really, _really _simple.

And yet it was proving to be one of the more difficult tasks she was subjected to this far into the semester. Having called the woman – Emily, she believed her name was, not that Rachel cared to remember at this point – seven times, left four voicemails, and sent a total of thirteen text messages all in the frame of an hour, she finally received a reply from an unknown number. One that left Rachel with not only an empty promise, but yet another incline to her reputation as the schizophrenic weirdo from the theatre department.

Oh, and a text filled with colorful language. She briefly wondered whether it was Santana hiding behind the Brooklyn area code, judging by just how much it reminded her of high school.

With her original candidate now off the hook, and on the list of people to avoid from what she could tell, Rachel had once again found herself on the hunt for, well… _nudes_, willing to take the offer she had atop her increasingly low budget. One would think this shouldn't be too challenging in a city like New York. Hell, the creepy freshman boy in her Acting and Playwriting course had even insisted on doing it for free.

That was when Rachel realized that she did, in fact, have a 'type,' one that she would cling to before ever having to watch a hairy, hormonal male strip before her eyes and lose another shred of her dignity. And finding a slim to average, decently attractive young woman with respect for the arts and the confidence to pose nude was proving to be a far more problematic feat than she had originally hoped.

"Why not just take it then?" They were huddled up in a corner in the Starbucks nearest campus – they being she and Kurt – straying away from the city's ridiculously cold temperature drops as it was closing in on the twenties. With the boy in question taking a hesitant sip from his drink, he gave her a pointed look and said, "This isn't Broadway, sweetie. It's intro. And if I recall correctly, you were fairly dramatic in your attempts to _avoid _going into the fine arts. Why does it matter whether they're male or female?"

Rachel huffed, resting her chin against her folded hands and effectively presenting him with her own pointed expression. "The point of the assignment is to represent beauty in the eye of the beholder, and as admirable as the male body is, the female form seems to be more… fitting in this case."

At his knowing look, she huffed again. "My sexual preferences take no part in this."

"I'll bet."

"And what is that supposed to mean?"

He raised his palms up in mock acquiescence and leaned back into his chair, crossing one leg over the other. "Nothing," he admitted, albeit with a little more purpose and jest than Rachel would've liked. "Simply giving you my judgment, as you have so ruthlessly asked for."

Frankly, she was curious, not that she would ever say that to the boy, or that she was desperately in need of his help. His ego was fine where it was, if not a bit on the enflamed side. "Oh? Do tell."

"You're predictable."

Rachel gasped. "I am not!"

"And that," Kurt pointed out, "Is your typical Rachel Berry reaction. Face it, hun. You came to me because you're too stubborn to admit what you're really looking for – tall, blonde, and beautiful."

It was the first time in a while he was able to catch her off guard. "I – that's not –"

"Or potential brunette," he added in thought. "My gaydar _was _rather keen when it came to your sudden interest in Santan–"

She cringed before letting out a sharp, "Kurt!"

Pausing to take another short sip of his macchiato, he waited for the girl to speak up, only to realize that this, in fact, was not going anywhere. Not when her stubbornness and persistence was just as immense, if not more so, than her ambition. So when Kurt stood up with an airy, "As insightful as this conversation is, I have a class in twenty minutes," Rachel immediately took the bait.

Much to Kurt's delight.

"Wait," Rachel declared, stopping him with a hand on his elbow (on his most costly designer coat, to which Kurt was forced to nonchalantly brush off). "Say… you were correct in your assumptions…" A moment of hesitation, trailing off with, "Hypothetically speaking, of course."

"Of course," he repeated wryly.

She ignored him. "And say… my search does in fact deal with certain preferences of mine, whether in the sense of what I find visually pleasing or… something else. _Not _that I should be so shallow as to believe that blonde hair is the superior one of the two, as I do find brunettes to be just as appealing, not to mention _red –_"

"Rachel."

She took a deep breath before promptly asking, "Will you help me?" and the way her bottom lip was jutted forward, eyes casted upward in such a _pleading_ – though truthfully pathetic – manner, would've made it impossible for Kurt to decline even if he wanted to.

"Say no more," was his response, hand poised up in the air as he effortlessly flipped out his phone. From his peripheral vision, he could make out the beaming smile Rachel had plastered widely on her face, as well as the enthusiastic little applause she did in the wake of her excitement.

Had she really been looking, however, she wouldn't have missed the sly grin adorned on the boy's face, disappearing just as quickly as he did in the midst of a phone call.

And that was how Rachel found herself in the vast constraints of an abandoned art room, approximately twenty-nine hours later, silently but urgently going through the supplies she would need before eight o' clock approached. She had never specifically agreed to meet up with Kurt's mysterious apprentice at such a late time. If it were up to Rachel, she would've insisted on a more convenient time interval… something other than the night before the assignment was due. But Kurt had been rather adamant about the whole thing, entirely _too _adamant if she did say so herself, firmly refusing to agree on an alternative solution. If he could find someone with the ease of just one phone call, why not search for someone with a more flexible schedule?

She couldn't bring herself to dwell on his suspicious behavior, because, really, there was nothing overly suspicious _about _it. Sure, he purposely evaded exchanging any sort of contact information or clue as to what the woman even looked like. From what Rachel could tell, if she was about to undergo something as deeply personal as sketching another woman naked, would it truly be that harmful to get a name out of it? And s_ure_, Kurt had been rather… off since their last rendezvous. She wanted to think it was because she now owed the boy a favor, which would delight Kurt knowing he had something over her. But there was a skip in his step, and an unusual glint in his eyes whenever he glanced over at her, which was still there just two hours previously when they met up at the library. And it frustrated Rachel beyond belief, not being able to read her best friend with the same skill he was apparently capable of.

She wanted to think nothing of it, and that in itself made her believe there surely was nothing to mull over besides the amount of stress weighing heavily down on her shoulders. But it was still nagging her from time to time, as though her subconscious was warning her of the potential disaster she was succumbing herself to if Kurt was indeed planning something.

She had half a mind to call Kurt up and demand answers, possibly put in a threat here and there if her talent for blackmail was anything to go by. Her phone was sitting on top of the night table in her room though, where she had left it thinking she wouldn't be in need of any distractions. Obviously it was a stupid move on her part.

Deciding she should go ahead and get it once she cleared enough space for an easel, she moved a table over to one side, only to come to an abrupt halt at the light shuffling of feet just outside the door, followed by the clamor of a door knob.

"In a minute!" Rachel called out and brushed a strand of hair from her face, letting out an irritable huff. She hadn't meant to lock the door, but she wasn't expecting anyone to come by the classroom either. It was a rarely used art room located in the basement of the building; not many people knew about it.

She rushed over to the door and, taking a deep breath to calm herself and look less crazy, she opened it.

Only it wasn't a fellow art student outside the door (now there was no need to shove anyone out of _her_ studio), but one Quinn Fabray.

At least, she _thought _it was Quinn Fabray. The similarities between her dreams and what should be real life were rather eerie, molding into one of those moments where it was near impossible to tell which was which.

So Rachel blinked, once. Twice. And then pinched herself.

_Right,_ she thought with a flinch, _Not a dream._

She was standing by the doorway looking just about the same as she did a month ago, having traveled back to Lima along with Rachel and Kurt for the Thanksgiving holidays. Her hair had grown to a suitable length right above her shoulders, and she was wearing what looked like a thick Yale jacket to fight off the winter chill, which seemed to have turned her cheeks a rosy shade of pink.

And although the girl across from Rachel was one of the few remaining Glee members she still kept in touch with (they made it a habit to chat at least twice a week with the occasional visit), it turned out as a shock to see her _here_. Right there in the flesh, with her last NYADA visit having been the September of that term.

Rachel's stomach flopped for a moment, and she had to grip the door knob hard to keep from swaying. But once the awe wore off and she was able to maintain a steady enough balance without toppling over, she finally found her voice.

"Quinn?" She cringed at how throaty it sounded.

A soft smile passed over Quinn's face, and she looked down at the bag she was carrying before tilting her head back up, eyes lingering on the other girl playfully. "Nice to see you, too."

In a flash, Rachel's arms were filled with the entirety of the blonde's torso, hands fisting into her jacket. "Quinn!" she exclaimed, happily nuzzling into Quinn's shoulder, which proved to be slightly uncomfortable and so settled with the crook of her neck instead. "What're you doing here? You weren't supposed to make it back until next Tuesday."

Rachel could hear the muffled words against her hair, though didn't pull away to make them out until the arms around her shoulders loosened.

"My final turned out to be on Thursday," Quinn replied cheerily, cheeks still frosted from the cold. Rachel couldn't stop staring at them. It was a wonder how she survived this ice age in only a jacket. "I convinced him to let me turn my paper in early."

"So you're here –"

"Until we leave for home," Quinn finished, causing Rachel to let out a sharply pitched squeal and hug the blonde again with all her might. She hadn't been this happy since… well, the last time she saw Quinn. As much as she loved her new friends and seeing Kurt every day as they pursue their dreams together, there was something enthralling about being face to face with the girl who had always been the doorway to her past, present, and future.

"Oh, this is going to be so incredible, Quinn. We'll actually have time to do everything we had planned for the summer, and then maybe this time you can show me around New Haven since you always seem to be the one visiting _me_. But _oh_, I _have _to show you this new vegan restaurant I found just a few blocks from here. Perhaps tonight we can –" Rachel frowned midway, having now realized that there wasn't going to _be _a tonight, and possibly no tomorrow night either. Finals week was taking the most from her and if it weren't for this dreadful art project, she may as well have wrapped Quinn in a large fluffy coat and taken her out into the city.

"What's wrong?" Quinn inquired with a quirked eyebrow, clearly noticing the diva's sudden change in mood.

Rachel shook her head. "Nothing," she said and nearly winced in chagrin with her own lie. "Okay, that isn't entirely truthful. Would you mind waiting in my room for a few hours – you do remember where it is? My model should be here in a few minutes. I can explain later."

At this, Quinn smiled knowingly, almost shyly as she hoisted the bag she had over her shoulder and stepped into the room. "You're looking at her, Rach."

For a second, Rachel wasn't sure whether she heard it right. It was like a punch to the stomach when the realization hit, and whatever composure she had managed to hold on to vanished as quickly and thoroughly as the air in her lungs. Her mouth was as dry as ever when she tried to speak.

"Pardon?"

The bag dropped to the floor, echoing through Rachel's ears like the boom of a shotgun. She almost missed the slanted, half curious/half annoyed look Quinn was so blatantly giving her.

"Kurt didn't tell you, did he?"

_Kurt. _

The name drifted through her mind in a whirlwind of anger as she fought to control the violent tremors coursing through her arms, and yet when those disappeared, she was left with something foggier. Something closer to the awestruck phase she couldn't seem to get out of.

Kurt did this?

Of course he did. Even in this barren state of mind, it all made sense to Rachel. The looks, the sneaking around… She wanted more than anything to feel angry again and get a head start on a diabolical plot.

_Damn you, Kurt Hummel._

And it was the first coherent thought Rachel had in what felt like minutes before she willed herself to say something.

Clearing her throat, she released a sound that was contorted between a bark and a cough, and blenched as a result. "No. He was… quite vague with your identity."

Immediately Quinn's eyebrows knotted in concern as she stared at the brunette. "We don't have to do this, you know. I can help you find someone else."

"No. No, don't be ridiculous," Rachel quickly admonished. "I – I'm simply surprised. I never expected you… to agree, rather. You realize this is a _nude _assignment –"

"Rachel," Quinn said very deliberately, and very slowly. Rachel could make out the slightest hint of amusement in her eyes. "I'm well aware of the circumstances. Kurt filled me in on all the details, and I'm more than willing to help. This isn't a big deal for me. I'm comfortable as long as you are."

Rachel instantly felt the effect of her words flow through her body, the way her face smoothed over and the weight was lifted from her shoulders. She finally allowed herself to calm down as she said, "That's… very sweet of you. Thank you, Quinn." Taking a deep breath, she added, "And yes, I'm fully capable of keeping this a professional setting. There's a robe over there that you can change into. You can come out whenever you're ready."

She knew, she just _knew _that she wasn't able to fully conceal the nervousness in her voice as it quivered once more, allowing Quinn to eye her in deep contemplation. But at Rachel's encouraging smile, she nodded and proceeded to the closet on the far side of the room. It was only after the door closed behind her that Rachel spiraled into full panic mode.

She needed her phone. She needed to call Kurt and tell him –

Tell him _what _exactly? That she was going to rip his arm off as soon as he showed his devilish little face again? That he should pry his nose out of other people's business?

None of it mattered at that point. Her phone was in her room which was all the way across campus and she just didn't c_are _at what point she could get her fingers wrapped around the boy's throat, not when Quinn was here and –

Rachel's eyes widened.

Oh no. Oh lord, she was going to see Quinn Fabray _naked._

Not Quinn in her short Cheerios skirt, or Quinn in a little black dress, but Quinn in the nude – something she had envisioned well throughout her years in high school (though never fully admitted to herself) and the feelings she had long ago crammed into the deepest and most veiled fragment of her being were starting to bare themselves into the light.

Never in her life had she felt there was something she _couldn't _do. Her fathers had raised her to believe she could do anything, and for the last twenty years that belief had clung to her like a second skin. Even when she choked in her NYADA audition, discovered the true nature of her sexuality, or ended her relationship with Finn, not once was the sensation of failure so… so _close. _She legitimately believed she could not do this.

Rachel was at a final standpoint, mere seconds away from exiting the building when she heard the soft _click _of the closet door and hesitantly lifted her gaze up to meet Quinn's.

Quinn stood by the doorway awkwardly, clad in only a thin white robe that scraped above her knees. Perhaps she sensed the amount of distress in the room, because her smile was just as awkward as she murmured a quiet, "Hey."

Rachel returned the smile with a strained one of her own. "Hi."

The silence that followed was unnerving, and yet it calmed Rachel knowing the other girl was at least somewhat anxious. She wasn't alone.

"So…" Quinn trailed off, pushing herself off against the frame of the door. "Do you want me to…" She pointed to the stand in the center of the room.

Rachel nodded. "Yes. You can take a seat," she offered, feeling her face heat up the slightest bit at the knowledge of what was about to happen.

She placed her sketchbook on top of an easel, running a hand against the smooth texture of the page as a method of distraction. She was acutely aware of Quinn's sauntering figure from the corner of her eye, and so ducked her head to grab the sticks of charcoal sprawled on the chair beside her. Realizing she was missing a white stick, she turned around to grab the remaining few pieces left on the counter, only to come to a halt when she was certain it was a robe that had been tossed to the ground.

Eyes have this way of wandering when all there is to see is skin skin skin, Rachel realized. Thankfully it was the robe she noticed first, giving her just a little extra time to prepare before she was forced to acknowledge the bareness of Quinn's body, at which point she couldn't stop herself from staring even if she wanted to. The swells of Quinn's breasts were forever inked into her vision, settling there for far longer than what would be deemed necessary before her eyes flickered over her shoulders, past her chest again, then down the lean muscles of her stomach as they reached the apex between her thighs.

Rachel's breath hitched. Somehow the temperature in the room had gone from mild to scorching.

When Quinn cleared her throat, Rachel snapped her gaze to her face, far too preoccupied by the blush on the girl's cheeks to feel embarrassed over her blatant ogling. She almost dropped the charcoal.

"Where do you want me?" The question was low, and sort of mumbled as she took her bottom lip between her teeth, but Rachel heard it clearly if the rapid heat pouring into her stomach was anything to go by. Her chest felt constricted, threatening to implode and… dear _god, _her body was on _fire._ More than anything she just wanted to –

_Stop_, Rachel snapped. _Professional, Berry. Keep it professional. _

Not that she was about to admit that she was attracted to Quinn Fabray any time soon. Because she _wasn't_. No, maybe at some point in high school the thought lingered in her mind longer than she cared for, but it was an idea that was smothered by the outcome of her new life. Her senior year was essentially everything she could've asked for as the final installment into her pathway of adulthood, yet it didn't_ quite_ displace the previous three years of torture, humiliation, and overall unwelcoming experience, with or without Glee Club. She never allowed herself to be brought down, being labeled as a Lima loser, and it was what kept her going no matter how difficult it became to strive for her dreams. It was only after she realized the implication of achieving those dreams that she was temporarily thrown into a whirlpool of sacrifices, and new sacrifices had to be made if she was ever going to make a difference in the world.

She broke up with Finn the week after graduation.

She had given him his ring back along with an in depth, heartfelt speech that she had been working on for three whole days, but it did nothing to soften the blow. Two weeks into the summer and the two never spoke a word to each other again. At least not until Rachel started her first semester at NYADA, in which they were able to keep a frail – and very much volatile – friendship intact.

She had moved on, starting a new life for herself without having an anchor in her past to keep her down. And it was that phrase alone that made her think of Quinn.

Truthfully she was perfectly fine with having Kurt as the only link to her years at McKinley High, but even more truthful was that that was a complete and utter lie. Yes, she still kept in contact with all of her fellow glee members – _original members_, she thought disdainfully at the sudden remembrance of Teen Jesus – but it was Quinn she took it upon herself to keep in touch with no matter the obstacles.

She soon discovered there was really no obstacle to consider. While the two weren't even in the same state, being eighty miles apart proved to be more of a plus side. It was enough for Rachel to get her dosage of a close, non-addictive friendship with the girl without the confusion of her sexuality getting in the way.

She was comfortable with her orientation at this point. Although she preferred not to put a label on herself, she was certain her attraction to men and women were of an equal standing, though that understanding was mostly due in part to Rachel's fascination with females in general; most definitely _not _due to any 'attraction' she held for Quinn frickin' Fabray.

And there she was again, lying to herself like a self-absorbed delinquent.

Santana would be proud.

When the silence stretched on for an unreasonable length, to the point where Quinn had uneasily secured her arms around her chest, Rachel gathered all of her will power and latched onto Quinn's face, putting on a practiced façade.

Instead of complimenting the girl's figure like she _should've _done, as it was characteristically Rachel's trademark to express approval when warranted, she nodded towards the podium by her feet and said, "Try sitting down, facing the statue in the corner over there. It might help to cross your legs."

Her voice had not wavered, proudly so, yet she couldn't stop the occasional glance down Quinn's rear as she followed suit. It was easier like this, not having to awkwardly gawk at a set of breasts and just plain… private areas, but rather an aesthetic view of the blonde's backside as it narrowed elegantly to the slope of her –

Rachel's limbs felt like jelly as she strode over to her easel.

After giving further directions on the positioning – body angled slightly to the left, head tilted at a forty-five degree angle – Rachel was finally satisfied and gulped quietly, closing herself to the images of this position had Quinn been facing _her._

"All right," Rachel stated, feeling somewhat confident now. This was her work mode. "I'll have an alarm set up for twenty minutes. Afterwards you may take a break if you'd like or we could try another… pose."

Rachel deliberately avoided using the word 'position.' At Quinn's subtle nod, Rachel tinkered with the little ringer she had for this purpose and, sighing, picked up a stick of charcoal. Her eyes roamed over Quinn's backside before she heatedly turned to her sketchpad.

For the next few minutes, Rachel was all too aware of her movements being too rigid and measured in her attempt to capture Quinn's body in perfection. Rachel would find herself stopping for just a minute to take it in with breathless admiration, only the intensity of her gaze would reflect back into her drawing and it frustrated Rachel. She was putting too much thought into refining the intricate detail. She could already hear her professor chastising her for failing to comprehend the entire point of the class.

After another irritated sigh from Rachel, she was pulled from her reverie upon hearing Quinn speak.

"You sound frustrated."

Rachel almost laughed. That she was.

"Yes, well…" she paused to add a little extra shading above what was supposed to be Quinn's right shoulder. The shape of it was all wrong. She picked up a kneaded eraser. "While I admit I'm not entirely skilled in this area of the arts, I find it worthwhile to respect the subject matter. It can be quite pleasurable at times if I put enough care into it. However now…"

Trailing off at the sudden movement in her line of version, she noticed the muscles of Quinn's backside quivering with silent laughter.

Rachel jerked up at this. "I don't see how you could possibly find any of this amusing."

"It's nothing," Quinn breathed after calming down, not a strand of hair out of place. "It's just… you've always been the singer. I've never pictured you as the artsy, look-at-me-while-I-hold-this-paintbrush kind. And even then I'm not surprised to see you get all worked up."

Setting down her charcoal, Rachel couldn't help but scoff and pin her gaze on her drawing. She was even more disheartened by what she saw. "I, on the other hand, a_m. _I never took you for a nudist, Quinn."

She immediately snapped her mouth shut, eyes wide as she warily looked at the other girl in case she needed to run.

But Quinn merely gave her a sort of one shouldered shrug, otherwise remaining stone still. "It's not like I lack experience. Being a Cheerio meant showering with the rest of them. Think of this as… a friend helping a friend."

"And the stillness? You're very good at it. Don't tell me the rumors about Sylvester locking anyone in a coffin as punishment were true."

A hint of a smile showed on Quinn's face, effectively calming Rachel. "Pyramids, Rach," she explained. "One quiver and my life was on the line."

When Rachel nodded, she looked at her work one final time before ripping it from its edge and revealing a new sheet. She was growing impatient in her attempts to fix what couldn't be fixed, piteously aware that her twenty minutes were not even up yet.

She was also aware of Quinn's gaze settled on her, a perfectly sculpted eyebrow arched upward. "Done already?"

"Not exactly," Rachel answered hesitantly. She took a deep breath. "I've simply decided to try something different. Would you mind…"

She felt her face grow infuriatingly hot at what she wanted to ask, but Quinn seemed to understand, causing Rachel's heart to lurch and eyes to drop when she stood up. Pretending to be fiddling with her supplies so as to not be caught (and accused) of goggling in a very non-heterosexual way, she set her expression straight once more and looked Quinn in the eye. She was thoroughly conscious of the bare frontal view she had despite her efforts.

"Right, so… sit on the stool over there and turn slightly to your left, facing me. Not all the way. Head up… yes, just like that." She nearly slapped herself for looking, three times in fact, followed by a fourth for having thought about it, but it was growing increasingly difficult to avoid being flustered and as a result, she _had _to look. While she always held a deep enthrallment with the female body and its gentle, sloping lines, Quinn's was the epitome of gentle. She was a work of art all on her own.

The second drawing worked out better than the first. Her technique was still sloppy and tense, but careful at best, making sure to capture the form of it first before going into detail. She paid special attention to Quinn's face, and to the deep, hazel eyes that stared off into the distance, seemingly unaware of her surroundings. It unnerved Rachel at first, seeing how well the former cheerleader could keep such a stoic expression, but it was a look that refused to leave her alone.

Upon arriving to the more… intimate attributes, Rachel spent an even _greater _amount of time on the girl's chest, drawing out a pair of firm, perky breasts with relative ease. It was the nipples that became a problem; they were very – and Rachel flushed for the lack of a better term – _hard_, as though they were struck by the cold. But all Rachel could think about was how it _wasn't _cold in the room and, if anything, it felt like a furnace. Thus she couldn't draw them effectively without her palms sweating and smearing the charcoal all over, and she had to clench her teeth in both anger and… the _thing _that kept stirring in her stomach.

She shifted where she stood, trying with all her ability to make that feeling go away, but it was making her body heat up and her movements jerky like before. After a while she simply gave up and stared at her sketchpad in a daze, eyeing the perky breasts in her drawing, until she was snapped out of it by Quinn's voice over her shoulder.

"…gay."

Rachel jumped and twisted her head around to see that she was right, and Quinn w_as _right behind her, barefoot and clad in only the thin white robe. When did that happen?

Upon realizing what she heard, Rachel cracked out a nervous, "What?"

Quinn rewarded her with a skeptical look. "I asked if you wanted to have another go. You've been staring at your paper for the last five minutes and the alarm sounded so…"

The alarm… _Ah. _So the ringing sound wasn't in her head after all. Mentally smacking herself for the slow thought process, she leaned over and put a halt to the noise, leaving just enough room for Quinn to get a good view of her work.

Her face remained neutral. "Not bad," Quinn mumbled, and Rachel wasn't sure whether to take it as a compliment or something _less _of one. Either way she wanted to throw the sketchpad across the room and then drop to the ground and weep. She did neither. Instead she felt firm, slim fingers wrap around her wrist before she could proceed to pull her sketchpad off the easel.

All too mindful of the sudden invasion, the smaller girl watched with blank interest as Quinn's face turned stern. "Your edges are too sharp. You need to learn to relax, Berry. You were about as subtle as Puckerman's nauseating stench of cologne."

For a moment, Rachel felt distinctly similar to a deer in headlights, wondering in panic if she had been caught red-handed and was about to receive the worst end of it.

That was not the case. Quinn just sighed and tugged lightly on the diva's wrist, silently demanding her to come forth, which Rachel did rather reluctantly as she faced her easel and felt the warmth of Quinn's body brush against her back. She wasn't sure what to say. It was moments like these, where her brain seemed to stop functioning, that it was better to not say anything at all.

Of course she never listened to the portion that w_as _working. "Uh… Quinn?"

Quinn ignored her. "Try holding the charcoal like this. It works better to keep the lines thin and smooth," she recommended, guiding Rachel's hand to a stick of charcoal and angling it at its sharpest point. Frankly Rachel couldn't care less about _how_ she held her charcoal, because Quinn was breathing down her neck and it was making her dizzy. Like, _really _dizzy.

Did her heart always beat like this when they were this close?

"And for Christ sake, Rach, unwind just a little. You're making _me _nervous," Quinn reprehended, and just like that, the warmth was gone, leaving Rachel with a stick of charcoal in her hand and an unmistakable sense of longing she knew she couldn't defend.

"S-sorry," Rachel stuttered pathetically, and she had to close her eyes for a second to stop the well of tears beginning to form. _God, _she really was pitiful. She knew this was a bad idea, from the very start, and yet she was too much of a coward to admit that all it was to her was another challenge. That, despite knowing that she _couldn't _handle it, she wanted to believe that she could, and there was nothing to separate her from completing her assignment. But she was wrong. Well, right in a sense, but incredibly stupid to overlook it.

Holding in the urge to cry, Rachel turned once more to look at the Yale student with as much confidence as she could muster, only to see Quinn's chest heaving a little too hard, and her cheeks just a little too pink. Thinking she was at fault for annoying the blonde, whatever 'confidence' Rachel gathered vanished all too quickly.

Upon seeing the smaller girl's façade crack, Quinn's eyes softened, and then she squeezed her shoulder before gently offering, "Why don't we give it one more shot? You need _something _to turn in tomorrow, Rach. And then after we can take a break and have a late night dinner."

Nodding slowly, Rachel agreed, not withholding the small smile she got at the idea. But then Quinn started to unfasten her robe again, and Rachel couldn't help it… she panicked.

"Stop!"

It was forced and loud, and it was enough for Quinn to do just that – stop – and wrinkle her forehead in confusion as she staggered back slightly. Rachel almost clamped a hand over her mouth, wanting to take it back and say something with less urgency, but it was too late, and she was quickly racking her brain for an excuse.

"I…" Rachel gulped. "Why don't we start ahead with dinner? The cafeteria closes at ten and I for one am absolutely _famished._" Was that a nervous chuckle at the end?

Quinn shot her an unimpressed look. "_After_, Rach. And we can go to that vegan restaurant that you were talking about. You'll be fine."

At another tug of her robe, Rachel caught the barest glimpse of a breast before she quickly exclaimed, "No, no! Leave… leave the robe on. I need to work on my drapery skills anyway. They're dreadful, to say the least."

A quizzical brow was raised, and Rachel's heart lurched at the faraway, bemused expression she received that was only directed at her when Quinn _knew _something was going on. Not just suspected, but _knew, _right before the questions followed. But there was something else in that look that Rachel couldn't identify with, nonetheless recognize. Maybe it was the slight slant to the lips that made the appearance… almost sly.

"I thought this was strictly a nude assignment," Quinn commented dryly.

Rachel hesitated. "Perhaps…"

She sighed in silent relief once Quinn let her arms fall to the side, allowing the robe to drape open slightly and reveal quite a bit of skin, but no body parts to speak of. It still didn't stop that crafty, suspecting look from reappearing on Quinn's face, and morphing into something else as she watched the other girl squirm beneath her gaze.

"Why then?" Quinn asked, taking a step closer when she obtained no response. "Rach?" Rachel's head shot up from the ground. "Are you uncomfortable with this? Does my body offend you?"

"No! No… Of course not." Rachel shook her head vigorously, choking out, "I'm quite accustomed to nudity, Quinn. In no way do I find it discomforting. And you… your body… please don't doubt me when I say you were more than perfect." She reddened. She still hadn't thought of a reasonable excuse.

An unreadable expression studied her. And then…

"You keep doing that."

Rachel's eyes widened, though she was clueless as to what Quinn meant by that, and squirmed as a result. "What?"

"That," she repeated, and it became evident that she was referring to her nervous struggling. "You were doing it even before all this. Once you knew it was me Kurt had called. You won't look me in the eye and… your face, Rach. I've never seen you this red since… since Finn…"

Quinn waited for Rachel's stomach to drop to the floor to finish, "Am I right?" And Rachel could only stare unseeingly. "I mean… is this like it was with Finn? Are you – that is, do you… _like _me?"

The air was hit out of her lungs in a breathless pant. Knees buckling, she struggled to keep herself upright with little success, and had to grab hold of the nearest table to keep from falling over. She couldn't even… _think _of how to answer that. Her first initiative was to respond with a determined _no_, and firmly screech out the ridiculousness of that assumption. An hour ago she could've done it with the ease and resolve that she felt (with strong resistance from the other half of her mind). But now it was like her vision had finally cleared, leaving open a window to something she _couldn't _deny…

And her honest side betrayed her. "_Yes_," she let out in a strangled whisper. There. She admitted it. That wasn't too bad; except her chest hurt and the tears she was keeping at bay were now surging against her tightly closed eyes. "I didn't… I didn't _know_, Quinn! I didn't mean for this to happen. Just… _please_ don't let this ruin our friendship…"

She expected to see an angry Quinn when she opened her eyes, or a disgusted Quinn, upset, horrified, sympathetic, or even no Quinn at all. She was nowhere near prepared to see Quinn _smiling_.

"I know."

That was all Rachel heard before she was crushed in a hug that would've made a run for her money. Her heart was far too feeble at the moment to handle this much stress, and her head was pounding, clouding her mind with another surge of confusion and – Quinn was hugging her? Wasn't it supposed to be the other way around? How… why –

Suddenly she was very aware of how thin Quinn's robe was.

"I sort of hoaxed it out of Kurt," Quinn admitted against her hair, and Rachel strained to listen even if the annoying pounding had reached her ears. "Senior year. The idiot thought I was planning some sort of ruse to get back at you… so I had to tell him… I needed to know first whether any of what I was feeling was mutual."

Rachel's eyes bugged in disbelief.

_Mutual?_

She pulled back enough to look up at the girl in question. "Quinn," Rachel paused, hesitating, "though admittedly pleased by your reaction and lack of desire to humiliate me in some way, shape or form… I'm afraid I still don't understand."

Quinn in turn rolled her eyes, playfully, Rachel noticed, which was good. Nothing too unexpected. Although the blonde had then lowered herself to Rachel's level, breath brushing agonizingly against her lips as she said, "How about you let me take this robe off, we finish this up –" Rachel's heart stuttered, both at the intimacy of what was _almost _a kiss and the suggestion. " – I take you out to dinner –" Quinn had pulled away then, far too quickly for Rachel's liking, though couldn't quite express the same displeasure at the wink the blonde threw over her shoulder. " – and we'll call it a date, okay?"

Rachel nodded dumbly, finding herself once again staring at Quinn's bare backside as she allowed the robe to slip past her shoulders.

It didn't take long after that for Rachel to finally understand.


End file.
